


Digging Through Memories Past

by xxSoliusxx



Series: A Guide to Solius's 035 & 049 Canon! [4]
Category: SCP Foundation
Genre: 035 has a non-binary host, 035 is a sadistic fuck, 035s real name cant be comprehended by people outside alagadda so who knows what their real name is, 049s name is florice, Europe, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Pre-Foundation, alagadda mentions, its like a snapshot of a moment in their past, its the uhhhh Black Plague
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24203182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxSoliusxx/pseuds/xxSoliusxx
Summary: The mask loses sight of their travel companion one morning in a small town in 1352
Relationships: SCP-035/SCP-049 (SCP Foundation)
Series: A Guide to Solius's 035 & 049 Canon! [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1769230
Comments: 5
Kudos: 104





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Lets see  
> 035 just speaks however cause theyre 035 and technically florice would speak like those in that time period I just dont have the energy to research that to make it accurate

The mask whirled around, a light breeze ruffling their hair as they slowly spun in the center of a dusty, barren street completely void of life. They’d been alone for no more than a few hours at the most.

See, it’d gone something like this: Florice, their trusty travel partner had wandered off into the shadier side of the village in order to hail treatment to the poorer civilians suffering from the Disease. 

Hey–it was 1352, the Black Death was wildly running rampant through the streets across Europe. It even had its claws hooked into the soul of this small town resting on the outskirts of German borders.

And Florice was attempting anything within his limited power to destroy the sickness. Or rather, to find  _ the cure  _ as he so often ceremoniously declared it. 

The mask cursed audibly, a thin stream of black dribbling from the corner of their wide porcelain mouth. Their eyes fell about the decrepit huts riddling this side of town lining the street. 

_ Now where oh where did he disappear to? My useless host only has a few hours left. Humans in this dimension are so pretty but so fragile.  _

Knowing Florice, he was probably inside one of the ragged houses quietly tending to the sick. The mask would patiently wait outside in the dirty streets for him to finish his work. Yet patience wasn’t the mask’s strongest virtue. They were a Lord after all and Lords demands were made to be met. 

_ Perhaps I should just burst into each of these houses here until I find him...it’s been four hours already… _

The mask quickly discarded that thought on the fateful remembrance of the time they’d tried that last in France. Florice had been particularly moody the following week after the mask’s dramatic actions and turned away, flat out ignoring them on occasion. 

And if Florice ignored them, the mask would have to settle on dainty townspeople for an audience. Not nearly as exciting nor desirable. Florice was the only one worthwhile sticking by in this backwater dimension due to his intelligence, past Alagaddan experience and his oddly resilient mind to the mask’s best swooning and swindling attempts for total control. 

Not that the mask desired control over his corrosive resistant body any longer. The mask had discovered Florice’s trust and company was more than enough needed in this world. The mask had never viewed another as an equal before, so this bond of companionship was both new and oddly englighting. 

A fit of boredom drowned out the mask’s thoughts as they stood swaying in the desolate street. Their eyes shifted to the slink of a shadow disappearing between dilapidated houses into a narrow darkened street branching off the main road. 

Perhaps stealing a stroll through the dodgy alleyways of the slums would prove for some entertainment as they waited for Florice to finish his day's work. The people crouching in those shadowed streets always proved for wild entertainment. They were desperate after all, which allowed their minds’ to be bent in all sorts of ways. It was sort of...tragic but endlessly amusing which made for excellent show business.

Besides the humorous aspects, the mask would need another host soon. The unpleasant sensation of their joints’ integrity beginning to weather was already upon them. 

This dimension offered nothing but weak, useless hosts. 

With that final thought, the mask ambled towards one of the darkened streets branching off from the main road across the way. They crossed over, approaching the shadowed alleyway. Slipping between two dilapidated huts, they ducked into the shade of the narrow path, fingers looped idly through the cord serving as a belt for their tattered pants. 

_ Where is the fashion in this dirty dimension anyways? Sure, the entirety of Alagadda may have betrayed me but at least the city was pretty and its people dressed modestly.  _

Seriously? What were these dull, tattered rags civilians here called clothing even supposed to be? 

Turning their disdainful attention upwards from the loosely ripped shirt sagging from their thinning shoulders, they set down the alleyway, faint footsteps echoing hollowly between old buildings. The path was relatively clear save for a few rotting planks of wood and occasionally dirtied rags settled in the ground. 

As they strolled through the alley, a slumped, dark figure sprawled in the shadows snared the mask's eye. They paused for a moment to observe a young man crumpled over in the dirt, propped against a stack of rotting wood. Clothes scarcely clung to his body. His fingers had blackened and a thin stream of crusty blood dripped from his lips. A faint buzz of flies hung audibly in the air, the black insects writhing over his rotting skin. His dull eyes lolled limply as bugs nipped at the lids. Whoever he was, he’d succumbed to the disease and crawled into the shadowed alleyway to shrivel up and die. 

A prickle of irritation and disgust pricked the mask’s thoughts. 

Utterly useless. Dead people served as horrible hosts. 

Sweeping past the body, the mask continued on down the narrow street. Flies buzzed by overhead. The mask wound up their foot and aimed a vicious kick towards a pebble, watching the stone bounce ahead further down the narrow street as they continued their search for both a source of entertainment and a viable host. 

They neared the grimy back wall of the alleyway with a twinge of disappointment. Wonderful. A dead end and no signs of any living, breathing candidates for a suitable host. 

As they prepared to whirl on a heel and stalk back down the street, an offshooting path to the right ensnared their attention. In a fit of curiosity, they poked their head around the corner, peering down the perpendicular street.

It was narrower than the original alley, a little more than two men wide. A few planks of littered, rotting wood speckled the ground. Glancing down, the mask picked out several sets of dusty footsteps scuffing the dirt. A few people had slipped down this way earlier. 

Perfect.

The mask ducked into the narrow street, carefully avoiding the planks scattering the ground. The walls loomed a few yards overhead, sagging and covered in grime. The grey sky shone down into the narrow street. A cold breeze swept through the silent air. As the mask set their foot down for another step, a splash of blackened liquid splattered against the ground, oozing from a fresh patch of splitting skin gaping their leg. 

Ignoring the deterioration yet falling into a slight limp, the mask continued on down the path picking up no signs of any people anywhere. 

That is, until the unmistakable sounds of a rough scuffle echoed up from further in. Boots hitting dirt, the ceremonious sound of someone being slammed against a hard surface–

A twinge of amusement tugged at the mask’s consciousness as their lopsided gate quickened. 

People fighting so animalistically was such a funny concept. Watching them tear each other apart over such simplistic matters that could be settled diplomatically was–

The mask was ripped from their enlightened thoughts as a furious shout filled the air, echoing up from another fork in the road up ahead. Their attention jerked up and they stumbled over a rotten plank in surprise as familiarity struck them. 

_ Florice.  _

The shout unmistakably belonged to him. The mask could recognize him anywhere, especially since he was the only man they deemed important. 

What the hell was he doing back here? The mask was sure their doctor companion been tending to people in the houses–

A stab of some rare emotion pierced the mask’s mind. Unease? Yes, unease sounded like the right word. They hadn’t felt such unease since their risky escape from Alagadda. 

See, Florice despised shouting, he was a coolly silent character who found loud exclamations to be unruly–

Shit. Something was most definitely wrong. 

Their gait quickened, falling closely into a run as their worn ragged soles pounded over the grimy street, splatters of black sparsely painting a trail behind them. They skittered to an unbalanced halt in the center of a four way crossroads, dislodging a splatter of ooze dripping from their left eye. They snapped towards the right-hand pathway, while a shudder of movement jerked their attention. 

Two figures filled the path to the right, one tall and darkly cladded, back turned towards the crossroads. The other, a short scraggly man with wide crazed eyes and adorned in a ragged grey tunic. A gleaming, thinly blooded knife was curled tightly between his stubby fingers as he staggered forwards, lunging for the taller figure. 

The darker figure stumbled backwards out of the side alley, the blade narrowly slicing the air near his waist. 

“I suppose this is a good time for an entrance?” The mask proclaimed, quickly stepping forwards as the knife wielding man tensed to steal another swipe at his target. At the sound of the masks’s darkly buzzing tone, the taller man whirled around, robes swishing about as his piercing golden eyes widened in recognition. He staggered backwards, edging away from the knife-wielding man and towards the mask.

The man with the knife growled, a mixture of fear and fury behind his eyes at the sight of the mask. 

“My god–what the hell are you?” He exclaimed fearfully, gripping the knife with both hands and turning the blade towards the mask in defense. The mask’s face flipped upside down in a mockery. 

“What the hell am  _ I _ ? Do my clothes really look that bad? Or is it the whole oozing black stuff that's doing it in for ya?” They gestured with one hand in a sweeping gesture across their body that appeared suspiciously like a bow. The man’s eyes widened, fear etched into the creases of his mouth. 

“Its–It’s the devil! You’re the–”

“Am I? I suppose I am, or maybe not. But I’m most definitely bored. Do you wanna entertain little old me for a while, darling?” The mask folded their hands under their porcelain chin as the gaping grin returned, stretching across their black-streaked features. 

Their inquiry was met with horrified silence from the knife-wielding man. His hands trembled. Amusement flickered across the masks’s features. 

“I take that as a yes? Let’s see, what could you do for me...oh I could have you hack at your wrist with that knife until your hand drops off...but that's standard showbiz! I need something with a bit more...spice to it. Perhaps you could gut your insides with your own fingers...oh! Now that–that is a fantastic idea! Imagine what you’d do from the pain!” The mask spread their hands, delight lacing their words. 

“What  _ would _ a man like you do from the pain? It's so entertaining to watch people break. The audience loves it! N–”

The mask broke off as Florice opened his mouth from beside them, interrupting the sadistic roll they had going on.

“Settle down. Everything is fine, don’t tantalize the man, he’s already at his wits end. He’ll learn from his mistakes, let him be. We are leaving this town tomorrow, he’ll be far gone behind us anyhow.”

The mask’s sight darted over to the tall man beside them. Stringy black hair peaked out from beneath Florice’s hood, brushing the ghostly pale skin of his forehead. His luminous golden eyes were heavy lidded in a calm, neutral expression as he gazed at the mask. 

The mask nearly missed the crimson slash of red sliced neatly through his left cheek. As they eyed the rivulets of red dripping from the cut, they heaved a dramatic sigh, straightening up and spreading their hands. A hot flash of anger sparked the mask’s thoughts as they turned to address the knife–wielding man. The thin stream of blood splattering the knife tip most definitely belonged to Florice. 

“You’re pretty useless, you know that?” The mask began, tilting their head to the side and dislodging a splatter of black that painted the ground beneath their feet. 

The knife-wielding man stiffened, trembling fists curled around the knife handle. The mask stole a step forward. 

“Don’t come any closer!” He shouted in a wobbly tone. 

“Since you’re worthless, at least pay me a favor before you go. Why don’t you just  _ kill yourself  _ for me? For the audience, really. Honestly! I think we  _ all  _ need a good laugh.”

The mask watched with a burst of glee as the man’s eyes faded into a glassy, faraway expression. The tremors wracking his hands ceased. 

“Wait–” Florice whirled around to face the mask with wide eyes as he realized what they’d done. The mask shrugged their hands. 

“Just sit back and watch the man perform for me,” they declared, a short bubbling laugh escaping the black mess of their mouth. 

The mask’s ever-wide grin widened further as the man flipped over the knife in his hands, raising his fists high above his head. 

Florice turned away before he could bear witness to the man driving the blade dowards, sinking knife hilt-deep with a twist and a drag upwards through his own flesh. 

The mask listened to the body slump against the grimy stones of the ground before whirling around to catch up to Florice, who’s booted heels were already stomping away back down the shadowed alleyway. 

“Hey, what even happened back there? Who was that guy?” The mask’s gait quickened as they strode to Florice’s side, stealing a sideways glance at their travel companion. 

“Don’t speak to me.”

The mask’s expression contorted. 

“Aw, dear, are you mad at me for that little performance?” 

“No.”

“You’re not convincing me here, doc. Suicide aside, are you okay, dear? That cut on your cheek looks pretty deep, how’d that happen?”

“Nothing happened, I’m fine,” Florice glowered, quickly swiping a gloved hand over the wound before violently flinching at the contact. 

“Yeah, I know you’re the doctor here but I don’t think so,” the mask reached out and grasped Florice's dark sleeve. 

“Hold up, you’re not just gonna keep walking around with open wounds on your face.”

“That is not your decision,” Florice retorted stubbornly, tugging his sleeve free from the mask's grip. The two continued down the damp alleyway back toward the main street. 

“Well if you don’t treat your wound, it’ll get infected and you’ll get sick and then you can’t help the sick people because you're sick yourself!” The mask argued without skipping a beat. Florice narrowed his eyes, locking his gaze straight ahead and passively ignored the mask’s protest.

“I'm pretty sure there's some bandages in that bottomless bag of yours. I’ll help you draw up some water from the town well and then you can take care of your cut. Then I won’t ask about what happened,” the mask declared indignantly. 

Florice cast a brief sharp glare down at the mask strolling beside him. 

“Fine,” he huffed irritably. 

“Wonderful!” The mask clapped their hands together. 

The pair of them strolled easily back down the main alleyway. A brighter light shone ahead, marking the exit back to the main road. With every step, the mask suffered an uncomfortable twinge that rattled their bones. The corrosion was growing hungrier by the minute. The gaping blackened wound on their leg split wider as more ooze spilled out, leaving a messy trail behind their worsening limping gait. They stumbled at one point and Florice cast them another neutral shadowed expression but this one laced with concern. 

The two stepped out of the alleyway and onto the main street, grateful for the open fresh air. The road remained void of any signs of life or townspeople. The threat of the plague was enough to keep them cozied up tightly within their own homes. The grey sky cast a blinding light onto the road and a chilly breeze whistled between houses, sweeping through the town. 

Florice tugged his hood tighter around his neck. 

“Alright! Off to find that well! It’s in the center of town, I saw it on our way in yesterday,” the mask proclaimed cheerfully, lightly elbowing Florice. Florice sighed defeatedly following suit as the mask brightly strode far ahead, leading the way towards the well with a black-stained trail. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just like them alot

As the two ambled into the center of town, the mask glanced around, taking in their surroundings. The well was situated in the town center just as expected. Accompanying it was a large bell fixed to a towering pole. Ringing the town center were several houses with sealed shutters. The townhouse stationed beyond the well had been boarded up for fear large gatherings would spread the sickness. 

The well was plain and grey. Uneven stones jutted out, forming a ring about two feet high. A small wooden roof hung over the circular hole of the well opening and a rope descended into its depths. 

The mask wandered over to the well in a bout of curiosity. They placed their hands on the rough stones and leaned over, peering down into the seemingly bottomless pit. 

“I still don’t understand how the water gets in here,” they mused. Florice approached, pausing as he glanced about the two’s surroundings. 

“There’s water below the ground. It fills the well,” he explained drily. The mask leaned back and straightened up, casting a wayward glance over at the doctor. 

“Right and that’s supposed to make sense?” 

“Yes.”

“Well it doesn’t. Anyway, at least the bucket bringing the water up makes sense–” the mask turned their attention back to the well, peering intently at the crank before grabbing the handle and attempting to turn the mechanism. 

Nothing happened.

“The crank turns counter-clockwise,” Florice corrected helpfully, slinging his medium-sized doctor’s bag off from around his shoulders. 

“You’re truly a brilliant man, darling,” the mask chided drily as they’d already begun to spin the crank counter-clockwise. 

Florice snorted before gingerly taking a seat on the edge of the well’s stones. He placed his bag at his black booted feet on the ground before him. Beside him, the mask continued to spin the crank. Florice glanced over at his companion, noticing one of many large black gashes on their calf spewing ooze. 

“You keep concerning yourself over me when you should be concerning yourself. Why do you have so many wounds to your legs?” Florice mused, raising an eyebrow.

The mask paused their handle-cranking and glanced over. 

“It's just my host, dear. Although this ones deteriorating a bit quicker than I thought, actually,” the mask shrugged nonchalantly, switching their attention back to the well. 

“Deteriorating…” Florice echoed lightly, flexing his gloved fingers. 

“I wish you wouldn’t. It’s a rather cruel twist of fate for you...to be free but to lose your freedom so often,” he murmured idly, lost in thought. The mask barely registered his words. Letting the phrase knock around their thoughts for a moment, they suddenly stiffened as a strange emotion clouded their thoughts. Those words rang with something like pity...but coming from Florice didn’t quite make them pity.

Quickly, the mask shook their head.

“Oh don’t think like that! It’s fun! Meeting new people and becoming new people is all part of the charm!” The mask reassured their companion with a lighthearted tone. Their own words fell short, hollowly playing back in their own mind. It was easy to spout lies to others but difficult to speak lies to yourself. 

Florice exhaled with a short puff, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“I assume it would be. Now, have you drawn up the water yet?”

The mask gave the handle one final crank as the wooden bucket ascended into view, sloshing full of well-water. They turned, beaming. 

“Yep!”

As the mask worked to detach the bucket, Florice opened his bag and reached a gloved hand into its depths. The mask traipsed to his side and dropped the bucket on the ground next to Florice’s bag. They collapsed to the stones of the well, crossing their legs as they leaned back beside their companion. Florice fished around in his bag for a moment longer before he drew out a few loops of gauze and a clean rag. The mask observed with passing interest as he dipped the rag into the water bucket and wrung the cloth out, water droplets splattering the ground. 

Florice straightened up, damp cloth squeezed in his fingers. He raised the rag up towards the gash in his cheek, sucking in a deep breath to prepare for the stinging pain to come. 

But before he could begin the process, he flinched in surprise as the mask’s fingers unexpectedly curled around his wrist. 

The mask wasn’t entirely sure what had befallen over them but they wanted to help. They watched Florice slowly lower his hand, luminous yellow gaze boring into them with a flicker of surprise. 

“Let me help,” the mask offered pleasantly. Florice blinked. 

“I’m fine. I can take care of myself.”

The mask’s head fell to the side, regarding Florice with an inferred look of both pleading and skepticism. Florice narrowed his eyes momentarily, studying the mask’s posture before sighing defeatedly.

“All right. Just once. Here.”

The doctor slipped his gloved wrist out of the mask’s grip and dropped the damp cloth into the palm of their outstretched hand. 

“Thank you, dear,” the mask replied blissfully. Florice then folded his gloved hands into his lap, one set of fingers digging into the other palm, as he braced himself. He stiffly fixed his gaze at the dirt beneath his boots.The mask leaned over, edging closer to Florice as they reached out with the damp rag in one hand. 

Gingerly, they brushed the cloth near the edge of the thin cut slicing the doctor’s cheekbone. At contact, Florice stiffened but offered no other visible cues of discomfort besides a slight twinge of pain at the corners of his mouth. 

The mask paused. 

“Does that hurt too much?” 

Florice calmly shook his head, his gaze firmly glued to the ground before him.. 

“You may continue.”

Below the gash was a mess of dried crimson splotching his cheek in maroonish streaks. The mask inched closer, bringing the rag up to the bloodied mess below the cut and deciding to start there since it had the least irritation. With several careful strokes, the mask wiped away the blood, revealing the doctor’s stark white skin beneath it.

With the rag now a slight pinkish hue, the mask withdrew their hand and turned to rinse the dirtied cloth in the bucket. In doing so, they were prompted to ask about Florice’s predicament once more. 

“So, doc, care to enlighten me about what happened earlier? I’m just curious and you know I’m always here for a good story,” the mask straightened up, clutching the now sopping wet rag in their palm as they brought their attention on Florice once more. Florice shifted, turning his head ever-so slightly to regard the mask. 

“I finished tending to a patient and stepped outside. A thief ran up and threatened me with a knife and drove me into the nearest alleyway.”

The mask brought the damp rag up halfway before pausing. 

“And?”

Florice’s steely gaze settled on the ground once more. 

“I tried to reason with words but he didn’t listen...People here never listen…” he muttered darkly. 

“I know dear, honestly it’s incredible how mortals here haven’t torn this world apart yet…” the mask mused in response, moving to gently dab the cloth nearer to the aggravated red skin of the cut. Florice sucked in a pained breath between his teeth. The mask paused once more, lifting the rag away. 

“How’d he nick you?”

“...nick?”

“How’d he slice your face?”

Florice was quiet for a moment, flexing his jaw in stubborn silence.

“I uh...I was too slow and I couldn’t move away...fast enough…” he muttered darkly, wincing as the mask pressed the damp cloth against his wounded cheekbone.

“You need to be more careful, dear!”

“My goodness, if only I considered that.”

“I’m serious, your face is too pretty to be all scratched up,” the mask chided, momentarily withdrawing the cloth and tilting their head to the side. Florice’s expression remained stubbornly neutral and he glared heatedly at the ground. The mask’s brows furrowed. 

“Are you really alright? Is this about the cut? Its a small cut, don’t worry, it may not even scar–”

Florice fervently muttered something under his breath. 

“What’s that, dear?” the mask chided, gingerly dabbing the cut once more. 

“I was too slow to defend myself, I couldn’t do anything and I don’t like feeling helpless,” he glowered in a low voice. 

“Oh dear,” the mask lifted their voice to a dainty note. 

“You’re not helpless, you just need to be careful,” they scolded lightly, reaching up with their free hand to gently run their fingers along the opposite side of Florice’s jaw. Florice eyed their tracing fingertips with a slight frown and a narrow gaze. His response was an incoherent hum. 

“...mm…”

The mask withdrew their free hand and administered the cut one last cleansing dab before tossing the rag aside and plucking up the coil of bandages situated between the pair on the well’s rim. 

In doing so, a piercing jolt shot through their body, knifing their bones in an agonizing reminder of what little time they had left. The pain in their rotting bones was starkly numb, the mask betrayed no hints of discomfort as they experienced the unpleasantries of a rapidly deteriorating host. 

Their gaping porcelain grin remained blackened and wide as ever. 

“Now all that's left is to patch you up. Hold still for me, dear.”

The mask leaned over, bandages stretched between their hands. Florice raised his chin for better angle as the mask gingerly aligned the bandage to the cut, plastering the cloth over the wound. They shifted closer to their companion in order to reach their hands around his head. Pulling the bandage taught, the mask blindly knotted the thin cloth at the back of Florice’s head, loosely securing it in place. 

The space between them at the moment was virtually nonexistent. As the mask leaned over the doctor, their elbows rested on his shoulders for balance. The mask was focused intently on looping the bandage’s knot one more time for them to notice much else. It was inherently more difficult than expected.

Florice had remained wholly silent and helpfully still for the entire process but his gaze flickered downwards to study his clothes with a frown. Or rather, the blackened substance dripping into his lap.

“You’re staining my robes,” he grumbled lightly. 

“Sorry, there’s no helping it, doc. I’ve only got a little time left,” the mask replied with a cheerful note. They themself had noted black secretion oozing from beneath their fingernails. A telltale sign revealing the advanced stages of their deterioration. 

As they fumbled with the strip of cloth, Florice’s attention flicked upwards from his stained robes and towards the mask's porcelain features.

“I truly do wish you didn’t have to suffer like this. It’s easier when you’re here beside me, I’d rather you stay, I prefer the company.”

The mask’s gaze focused intently on their ongoing handiwork as Florice’s words fell on distracted ears. For a moment, the mask remained silent, mind churning as the doctor’s proclamation settled in. 

Florice. Florice wanted them to stay. Florice enjoyed their company. 

Oh the mask would love nothing more than to abide by the doctor’s words and remain at his side. Alas, the deterioration of hosts was unstoppable.

The mask could do many great things. Possessing a mortal body capable of withstanding otherworldly power was not one of them. 

They quickly finished their work, snugly pulling a third knot taught in order to properly secure the bandages in place. Quietly, they let their hands fall limp as they formulated a response. Glancing up, they observed Florice’s neutral expression. The bandage ran over his nose and across both cheekbones–although one side was soaked in a faint red tinge.

“I’m sorry I can’t stay my dear,” the mask muttered. Not the most grand reply in all honesty. A hot flash of pain knifed through the mask’s ribs as the oozing black corrosion began to eat away at their core. They uttered a silent sigh, mustering the strength to pull their arms off Florice’s shoulders. Florice stiffened as the mask pulled away, arms limply falling to their side, hands settling to scrape the rough stones of the well. Their gaze never left the doctor who leaned over, chasing the mask as they pulled away. 

A gloved hand reached out and caught a set of darkly stained fingers.

Flattery crossed the mask’s thoughts as Florice gently grasped their hand. Through the glove, his hand was warm. His eyes offered a hint of reassurance as he gazed down, noting the split skin carved into the back of the mask’s hand, a dribble of black splashing his fingers as he gently traced the decayed skin with a gloved thumb.

“You have nothing to apologize for, don’t,” Florice murmured, his soft heavy gaze flicking upwards to regard the mask once more. 

Even as their bones weathered away under damaged skin, the mask managed to inch nearer to the doctor, their fingers tightening around his gloved hand. An unpleasant tearing sensation befell the lower half of their body as their calves gave way to ink-black sludge. The mask barely registered their body falling apart underneath them. If they were to glance downwards, they would take note of black secretion thickly coating their chest, eating away at the ragged cloth clinging to their body and the ooze trickling into Florice’s lap as they swayed unsteadily. 

Florice gently tugged at their hand, guiding them closer and wrapping his other arm around their upper back for support. The edge of the mask’s pale cheek bumped Florice’s shoulder, fully leaning into the doctor’s embrace as their body slowly ebbed away. 

The touch of Florice’s hand enclosing their own sparked a strange sort of warmth that encouraged the mask to let loose, a blissful relaxation befalling their thoughts as Florice’s grip around them tightened. 

This was nice. The mask sought out the warmth, glancing up to meet the doctor’s lidded gaze. In the moment, the mask basked in a strong, tender comfort here in Florice’s arms–feeling the type of enlightenment one would get from the touch of a lover.

They searched the doctor’s bandaged face. Florice’s brows furrowed, and the corners of his mouth tugged downwards in a soft frown as he gazed at the mask. The mask uttered a tired sigh, black secretion dribbling from the corners of their mouth. 

“You really want me to stay, hmm?” the mask offered lightly. The fingers wrapped around their side stiffened in response. With one oozing black hand, the mask reached over, straining to lean upright as they lightly brushed the tips of their blackened fingers against the doctor’s cheek. 

“I’m never gone, I’m always here and there’s plenty of people around who can be my body,” the mask offered reassurance. They gently cupped the side of Florice’s bandaged expression, thumb brushing the high curve of his cheekbone. Their fingertips left a black trail, staining the cloth and smudging against his pale skin. 

“Both of us have all the time in the world, you know that, dear,” the mask chided. 

Florice’s cheek fell heavy into the mask’s deteriorating palm, eyes fluttering shut as a tired sigh escaped his lips. 

“I just wish you could stay here by my side longer.”

The mask continued to stroke his cheek, admiring the view for a moment before gathering the words to reply. 

“I’ll always be at your side, although it’s not exactly how you’d like it to be,” the mask shifted, raising their porcelain features from the doctor’s shoulder. Florice’s eyelids fluttered and he cracked open a lazy eye at the mask’s sudden movement. 

“I know.”

The mask leaned upright, their fingers escaping Florice’s touch for a moment. Florice’s arm slithered out from around the mask’s side as they left. The mask swayed for a moment gazing at the doctor with their never-changing grin. After a passing second, Florice reached over with both gloved hands, cupping the mask’s stark white surface, thumbs brushing their porcelain cheeks. 

“Does it hurt?” the doctor’s face fell sideways upon questioning. The mask’s grin widened. 

“Does what hurt?”

“You...the deterioration process…” he murmured, a flicker of concern written across his expression. The mask offered a gurgling laugh, dislodging a few wayward droplets of black sludge from the corners of their eyes. 

“I can’t feel anything, dear,” the mask lied easily through the mess of ooze pouring from their gaping grin. 

“Nothing?” the doctor skeptically eyed the mask.

“Nothing. I can’t feel snapping bones or skin eating itself away,” the mask offered brightly, wrapping their weakening fingers around the doctor’s wrists. An agonizing burning sensation flared in their shoulder, blossoming dowards towards their ribcage. 

They could do nothing against the endless pain but laugh. Laugh as their mortality was eaten away by a higher power. 

The mask chuckled brightly as a stabbing pain shot down their wrist, a chunk of blackened flesh sliding free from the constraints of their body. A short bubbling laugh burst from their core as their throat began to tear itself apart, acid chewing on rotting vocal cords. 

Florice gaped at the mask with wide-golden eyes. 

“You  _ can _ feel it, can’t you?”

“Of course I can,” the mask gargled furiously, shoulders shuddering with mirth as their grip on the doctor’s wrists grew slacker by the second. The mask’s expression contorted into a sign of anguish as they viewed their companion’s downcast features. A sudden spark of frustration crossed their thoughts. 

“Stop looking at me like that. It is what it is. This pain is nothing compared to what I’ve felt before. Being in your arms makes it easier after all, dear doctor,” the mask’s expression faded back into an upturned grin. Florice’s gloved fingers clutched the sharp curves of their porcelain edge as the mask fell forwards unsteadily, the crumbling structure of their body withering away. 

The mask barely managed to hold themselves upright as the final stages kicked in, a mass of bubbling ooze flowing from their skin splitting apart in an endless river as they limply leaned into the doctor’s lap, peering upwards into the hollow face beyond the hands cupping their cheeks. 

“I’ll be with you soon, we’ll be together in no time, dear, don’t worry,” the mask managed out, the words spewing choppily as black sludge fell from their throat.

Florice’s expression remained stony, a slight frown turning down the corners of his mouth but his eyes softened. He knew. He knew the mask was going nowhere.

The mask’s next words spilled in a choppy garbled mess. 

“And we’ll be–side by side forever one day, my love,” they managed out before their ability to speak fell away with the flesh of their host. The doctor’s face swam above them, his golden eyes nothing more than shining pinpoints. The faint ghost of a smile tugged quietly at the corners of his mouth. His expression softened, a light filter of comfort casting over his bandaged features as the mask’s consciousness began to fade. 

“ _ Mi amour, mon cheri, _ ” he murmured softly as the mask’s body fell away, a black mess pouring over the jagged well stones. 

The doctor remained motionless, sitting quietly on the well as he simply gazed into the now empty mask resting innocently in the palms of his hands. After a passing second, the soft smile tugging at his lips widened and he turned the porcelain face over in his fingers. 

Without a single word, the doctor raised the mask, drawing it’s porcelain touch to his face, fitting it’s stark features snugly over his own. His hands dropped to his side, the mask adhering to his features without need for support. The effects were felt immediately as a second consciousness brushed up against the doctor’s own, familiar and comforting. 

_ “So, seeing one another again so soon, doc?”  _ A foreign yet familiar buzzing voice echoed in the doctor’s thoughts. 

_ “Of course. I am the only host around at the moment, after all.” _

The tall figure rose from his seat on the stones, pale face now masked with wide, grinning porcelain features. Florice was a peculiar host for the mask. Due to his time in Alagadda his body was increasingly resilient to the mask’s corrosive effects. On top of that, his mind was an odd enigma which offered immunity to the full extent of the mask’s damaging psychic effects. 

The mask’s consciousness settled comfortably within the doctor’s mind, brushing up against his own. The mask held little power here and received limited control over the doctor’s body as they were a brief guest and Florice was a gracious companion rather than a permanent host. 

This was a mutual partnership after all.

Florice, now masked with his faithful partner stooped for a moment, gathering up his doctor’s bag from the ground. He straightened up, slinging the strap over his shoulder before idly brushing off his stained robes. The mask began a short ramble of speech inside his thoughts, opening discussion to where the two would travel next–should they begin a journey West towards Spain or South towards Italy? 

The tall figure whirled around, spinning away from the well before setting foot back down the main street. He strode confidently between houses as a warm breeze swept through the town. The tag ends of his blackened robes swished around his heels as he headed for the town gates with an old tune humming from his lips beneath the porcelain mouth


End file.
